


Reanimate My Trust In Fate

by Pale_Skin_and_Fragile_Bones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More Tags Will Come As We Progress, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pale_Skin_and_Fragile_Bones/pseuds/Pale_Skin_and_Fragile_Bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a bruise.</p><p>Derek hadn’t seen much reason to question it; not at first. Even at eighteen, and starting to become more proportionate to his long limbs and broad shoulders, Stiles is still the clumsiest person he knows. Rapidly however the werewolf finds himself alarmed. </p><p>Stiles is having 'accidents' faster than he can begin to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sentinel

It started with a bruise.  
  
Derek hadn’t seen much reason to question it; not at first. Even at eighteen, and starting to become more proportionate to his long limbs and broad shoulders, Stiles is still the clumsiest person he knows. Rapidly however the werewolf finds himself alarmed. Not that he could admit it aloud. One bruise became ten, ten became twenty, cuts and angry welts followed suit. In a matter of a few months vibrant, cheeky Stiles became quieter; his usual grin a watered down imitation. It's maddening, and Derek can't stop thinking about it. About the harsh coating of misery that gives the brunet's usually intoxicating scent an odd tang; almost coppery.  
  
Like the smell of blood that clings to the younger man now.  
  
“All right. What's wrong with you?” The smooth, nigh unobtrusive, question jerks Derek out of his brooding. Pausing in his grand endeavor to bore holes into the floor of the loft he turns towards Peter, who continues to regard him curiously. “I’ve never seen you so distressed, and that’s saying something.”  
  
Giving a non-committal grunt Derek returns to his pacing. “This is about Stiles, isn’t it?”  
  
“Thought so,” Peter sits up properly, abandoning his easy sprawl on the couch. The younger Hale is frozen in place; almost as if he's afraid movement alone will give something secret away. “You’ve been head over heels for that boy for two years now. When are you going to admit that? Or are you doing this to yourself because of Adryan?”  
  
“Adryan?” Derek's frown deepens. Who the hell is Adryan, and what do they have to do with _Stiles_?  
  
“His boyfriend.” The stricken expression that takes over the Beta's handsome face earns a sympathetic hum from Peter. “You didn’t kno-”  
  
“No. I didn’t.”  
  
Peter must be feeling charitable, because he doesn't so much as scoff or sneer at Derek for cutting him off. He does, however, sigh as he returns to his reclining position. “Talk to him. I’m not going to deal with your sulking another day.”  
  
As if on cue, Derek's phone gives a soft chirp to indicate an incoming text. Fishing it out of his back pocket he skims the message from Scott. The words grind Derek's world to a halt. The wolf's muscles are so taunt, jaw clenched so firmly, it is a wonder he hasn't broken anything. If he was a normal man, he would have ground his own teeth into a fine powder at the very least.

_Hey Derek. With Stiles at the hospital. Says it was a 'dirt biking accident.' He's pretty messed up._  
  
“Derek?”  
  
It isn’t Peter's voice that pulls him out of his silent rage. It's the muted crunching and creaking of plastic as his phone is being steadily crushed in his hand. Already the screen is cracked beyond recognition. Peter tries again, and it isn't until the third agitated utterance of his name that Derek can find his voice to answer.  
  
“Stiles is in the hospital.” The flat tone belies the churning in his stomach. Derek doesn’t believe for a second the excuse Scott relays. He can tell just by how the true alpha phrased it he doesn't either. It was a 'dirt biking accident'. Granted yes, Stiles is the kind of young man he could easily see trying it at least once, but something about the story is setting off alarms rapidly. Of course it's not just because of the sudden knowledge of a mystery boyfriend. Striding across the room Derek shrugs his leather jacket on, picking up his keys before his uncle can utter another word.  
  
“I’m going.”


	2. Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has to keep himself together. He has to be strong. No matter what Adryan will throw his way. The brunet promised himself he would keep the alpha's temper from being directed at his friends. Courage and willpower are all he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just would like to take a moment to thank everyone who has read this fic so far. Thank you for your time, your kudos, your bookmarks, and comments. You guys are my fuel and I love you guys! <3

Maybe it's the morphine talking, but Stiles feels _awesome_.  
  
Okay. So it's definitely the morphine. With a soft sigh and a silly grin the brunet lolls his head towards Scott and Kira. “I like morphine. Sooooo much. A lot lot.”  
  
“We know, buddy.” Scott can't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. His best friend has announced his love of the pain killer at least five times in an hour.  
  
At least he's smiling.  
  
An emotion the true alpha can't even begin to describe claws viciously at his self control. Stiles lied about the accident. Scott knows it, his Mom definitely knows it too, and if the way Kira has been doting on the sheriff's son is any indicator she's of the same mind. Scott glances over to the kitsune, expression softening as he watches nimble fingers at work.  
  
“Almost done, Stiles,” Kira murmurs with a gentle smile. Apple bunnies, as she explains, are great for cheering someone up. “Be sure to eat them all, okay? Don't want any lonely ones.”  
  
The way Stiles' face lights up as he accepts the treat makes Scott's heart ache worse. They're best friends. _Brothers_. What is so terrible that Stiles has to hide it from Scott? He's vaguely aware of his best friend and girlfriend talking in the background of his thoughts. Maybe Derek can help coax answers out of Stiles. Or at the very least, help Scott figure out what to do. As it stands, Stiles and Derek have been dancing around the truth of each other for far too long.  
  
“Well. Isn't this cozy?”  
  
Chocolate colored eyes snap to the doorway, and the man leaning casually against the frame. The redhead is powerfully built, and watches them with what Scott can only guess is supposed to be a smile fixed on his handsome face. His scent reeks of something supernatural. Could be werewolf, could be something else. Scott is certain of one thing though; whatever it is, it isn't _right_. “How are you feeling, babe?”  
  
“Hey,” Stiles' heart rate spikes sharply as he greets his boyfriend and blurts out an 'I'm fine.' As he does so, Scott makes a sickening realization; missing pieces to the puzzle clicking into place. Although the whole picture isn't clear, one thing is for sure.  
  
It's _him_.  
  
The stranger is the boyfriend Stiles barely ever mentions. He also has something to do with the 'accident.' The sinking feeling in Scott's gut only worsens, guilt of not being more observant sharpening his warring emotions. One question Melissa asked earlier while they were getting Stiles settled in circles in Scott's mind.  
  
 _Are you currently in a relationship where you fear for your well being?_  
  
“Scott, Kira, this is Adryan,” the mildly distracted introduction breeches the rumination. “Adryan, this is my best friend Scott and his lady love Kira. They're awesome.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you,” the words feel like lead as they pass Scott's lips. The redhead doesn't even bother to respond, instead plucking a chair from against the wall near the door and dropping it uncomfortably close to Stiles' bed. Uncomfortably close for his friends anyways. Scott refuses to act on the desire to physically show the man out. Stiles doesn't need the stress, but a mental note for later is made. A note to be absolutely clear he not only doesn't approve of the guy, but wants him _out_ of the younger Stilinski's life. Forever.  
  
“They giving you the good stuff, babe?” God Adryan makes Scott's skin crawl. Stiles nods, the ghost of his smile returning. Adryan reaches out to stroke Stiles' hair, and all of Scott's hard earned control nearly flies out the window.  
  
Stiles _flinches_.  
  
The brunet is quick to recover from it, so much so it would have been imperceptible to a normal person. Stiles has to keep himself together. He has to be _strong_. No matter what Adryan will throw his way. The brunet promised himself he would keep the alpha's temper from being directed at his friends. Courage and willpower are all he has.  
  
Luckily for Adryan, before Scott's desire to defenestrate the bastard becomes too much to bear, Derek appears at the threshold.


	3. Seraph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek doesn't even get a chance to utter a word before Stiles is making grabby hands at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, Lovelies. Honestly, I've given up all hope of figuring out how long this will be until it's complete. It keeps getting longer! Doesn't help that certain people (who know who they are! <3) keep feeding these plot bunnies. Again, my most humble of thanks to everyone who has left kudos, comments, and have taken the time to read this. You guys rock, and I appreciate you!

Normally, Derek is the kind of man who would stare down anyone driving inattentively. Normally. As it stands, he doesn't remember the drive to the hospital. He also doesn't remember the quick stop he made to pick up a treat for Stiles. Melissa is waiting for him when he arrives, and the tight lipped smile on her lovely face tells him far more than words could ever speak. She leads him to Stiles' room silently, pausing to pat him on the arm before slipping away.  
  
“Sourwolf!” Stiles blurts out the nickname, and attempts to sit up straighter. All that comes of the effort is a bit of useless wiggling in place. Under different circumstances, it'd probably be adorable. Bright eyes immediately zero in on the fast food bag being gripped loosely within strong fingers. “Did ya bring me something? Could I possibly be so lucky?”  
  
Derek doesn't even get a chance to utter a word before Stiles is making grabby hands at him. “You did, right? I smell curly fries!”  
  
Raising an eyebrow the werewolf doesn't speak, simply fully enters the room and carefully drops the paper bag on Stiles' lap. Everyone knows the best place to get curly fries in Beacon Hills. Yeah, it's a bit more expensive than most of the burger joints, but it's always worth it.  
  
 _Stiles_ is worth it.  
  
“You are _so_ my hero!” Derek can nearly taste Stiles' gratitude as he digs into his offering. It was never easy to begin with, but now it's getting even harder to deny his feelings for the sheriff's son. Even if he's rejected, even if Stiles can't see himself with Derek, he's going to get Adryan out of the picture. He's been trying to ignore the man since he came in, and all of his efforts to pretend the other possible werewolf doesn't exist take a flying leap a few seconds later. Seemingly out of nowhere Adryan roughly snatches Stiles' closest wrist; his cast covered left next to the bag.  
  
The response is instantaneous.  
  
Derek fully wolfs out, rumbling deeply in rage. Scott doesn't completely shift, but his eyes bleed to red as he gives a warning growl of his own. Both he and Kira are standing. Only her hand on his arm is likely what is keeping him rooted in place. It might be better _not_ to leap over Stiles to kill the bastard. Might be. Derek doesn't notice his claws digging into his clenched fists. Or the blood that wells and threatens to hit the sterile floor. His full attention is fixed on the point of contact between Stiles and Adryan.  
  
“I don't think you should be eating junk food right now, babe. Do you?” The redhead releases Stiles' wrist much too slowly. He doesn't flash the true color of his eyes, nor does he rise to the open threats being given to him. Adryan keeps talking; voice slipping from honey smooth to just outright oily. “I just don't want it to be a problem is all.”  
  
Stiles flushes deeply from the attention on him. He shifts in place from equal parts pain and embarrassment before speaking. “Well, um... it-”  
  
“It _isn't_ a problem.” Melissa's voice interjects from the doorway sharply. Scott's expression shifts to one of awe as his Mother strides purposefully into the area. Even a bit of tension leaks from Derek's posture as she approaches. For a moment the room at large wonders how much of the conflict she has caught upon her return. Answer- more than enough.  
  
“Mr. Sutherland, as you are _aware_ that wrist is  broken, and his ribs are bruised. So that little antic of yours couldn't have been comfortable. Even with pain medication.” Adryan's indignant glare is met without so much as a misplaced blink. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. Your carelessness is dangerous to the patient.”  
  
Stepping to the side Melissa nods towards the exit while flicking through the chart in her hands. “Please show yourself out, and have a nice day."  
  
Adryan doesn't speak. For all of his cruelty and disrespect, he knows better than to start something further in the hospital. The wall of a man storms out, but as he does so he gives one last look over his shoulder. It isn't his boyfriend he catches eye contact with. It's Derek. If looks could kill...  
  
One of them would already be dead.


	4. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence lingers in the air thickly before Derek hears Stiles move, the weight pressing onto his back is lighter than he thought it would be. Standing in one fluid motion he adjusts Stiles slightly. It's more out of concern for his mate than his own comfort. “Don't drop me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to everyone who is still with me on this! You know I love you all, and it means so much to me that you've taken the time to read this. <3

Stiles doesn't take a breath until Adryan is out of sight. The sound of his boyfriend's heavy footsteps becoming fainter leaving him with an odd sense of trepidation. Although the morphine has been kind to his battered body, Melissa is right. Adryan's display of dominance leaves him aching. A dull throb beginning to gain momentum.  
  
It's nothing compared to how he felt before being cared for though.  
  
What little color he has left drains from Stiles' cheeks as he blinks up at his audience. Melissa, Scott, and Kira have been staring at him for several intense seconds. Derek's attention remains completely on the doorway. The silence hangs in the air oppressively for a minute or so longer before Melissa takes mercy on Scott's wounded friend.  
  
“I got the go ahead to release you from Dr. Townsend.” Quick, deeply concerned eyes catch Stiles' and hold contact. “I really think you need to stay with someone tonight. You need to be under observation with the medicine you're being prescribed, and considering your Father is helping Rafa on a case out of town...”  
  
Stiles can't help but give a soft, humorless laugh. It's still hard to believe they're willingly working together; even though the two have been gone for a few days already. What little of the pleasant tingle is left from the morphine is ripped away from a hesitant question. “Does Adryan know where our house is? If not you could stay with Scott and I tonight-”  
  
“He'll stay with me.”  
  
Stiles can't help but jump a bit at the sudden, strained tone of Derek's voice. The hitch in his heartbeat pulls a explanation from the beta. “I know he doesn't know where I live. I'll keep an eye on Stiles.”  
  
Melissa nods her agreement before slipping out to retrieve prescriptions and release information. Meanwhile, Stiles' dexterous fingers worry at the light blanket over his legs. “You sure Derek? I mean, I don't want to bother you.”  
  
Prismatic eyes finally pull away from the entrance, and meet Stiles' nervous face. “Yeah. It isn't a problem. Scott and Kira could always drop by to help if we need it.”  
  
“Of course,” Kira adds helpfully, and Scott merely nods. They're all dancing around the topic. Everyone is avoiding saying what they are _really_ thinking. Stiles turns his attention to his all but forgotten curly fries. They've cooled off quite a bit, but are still worth eating. Derek's gaze is fixed on the half-hearted way the sheriff’s son is eating. Normally he just shovels it in, but this time Stiles is _very_ careful. Near delicate.  
  
Of course, this likely has to do with the deeply bruised right side of his mouth, and the split in his lip.  
  
The closer Derek allows himself to inspect his possible mate's injuries, the more feverent his anger burns. He has to be honest with himself, he's beyond angry; he's _livid._ The one thing that has always been his anchor for control is close to making him lose it. Before he can dwell on it any longer Melissa returns with a few pieces of paper and an ankle brace.  
  
“Well, that's our queue,” Scott quips with what he hopes is an encouraging grin to his best friend. In all honesty, it looks a bit pained instead. Both he and Kira stand, returning their chairs to where they had found them. “You need anything, _anything_ at all, you call me. ”  
  
“Yeah yeah, I know.” Stiles rolls his eyes and tries to play it off like he's annoyed with Scott's concern. “I'm not a damsel in distress. I'm fine.”  
  
Internally Stiles cringes as the last two words he spoke repeat in his mind. He's rarely ever fine when he says 'I'm fine.' Scott, thankfully, doesn't point this fact out. Instead he takes Kira's hand and leaves with a promise to text later to check how Stiles is doing.  
  
“All right you,” Melissa passes the papers to Derek as she closes the distance between herself and her patient. “Let's get this on.”  
  
“I'm already wrapped though!” Stiles hates how whiny he comes across; but having his ankle moved around and poked at the first time sucked. A lot. He's had sprains before in the past, it's a given considering how much of a klutz he is, but never above something that needs more than wrapped and iced.  
  
“I know,” Scott's Mother states simply as she flicks the blanket out of her way. “You also weren't going to be wandering around on it for awhile. It needs more stability, Stiles. It's either you let me switch the ace bandage out for this,” Melissa shakes the brace a little for emphasis. “Or I'll boot you.”  
  
“You wouldn't-”  
  
“Try me, kiddo.”  
  
With a little huff Stiles holds out his fry bag for Derek to take. The werewolf obliges, but doesn't back up very far once he's done so. Melissa is careful as she unwraps the injured limb, and sighs once the wrap is removed. “You're really deeply bruised. You can walk on it, but you shouldn't anymore than _absolutely_ necessary for the next week. No wandering around, and I expect Derek will keep you icing this regularly. You know the routine- rest, ice, compression, elevation.”  
  
Derek grunts in agreement, and Stiles gives a quiet 'okay' just so Melissa knows she's been heard. Derek's staring too hard at Stiles. He knows it, understands how uncomfortable it must be, but he can't stop himself. With the blanket out of the way more black and blue marks stand out in harsh relief against pale skin. It doesn't take a medical professional to know they don't match up with a dirt biking accident.  
  
Not when most of them look finger or fist shaped.  
  
The Hale doesn't catch anything further that is said, only when Melissa pats his arm again and states Stiles is 'all his now' does he break from his thoughts. He can't stop the self deprecating smile that crosses his lips. He only wishes Stiles really _was_ all his.  
  
“Okay, well I'm getting dressed now,” Stiles mutters as he scoots to the other side of the bed. Picking his clothes up from the chair they were tossed onto the human darts a look over his shoulder. Hopefully Derek won't be staring at him. He's been downright creepy the last hour or so. The wolf does catch the implication, and busies himself with looking over Stiles' prescriptions and care information.  
  
“We'll need to stop and get these filled before we head to the loft,” Derek's attention wanders back to Stiles as he speaks. The timing works out well for the boy as he only catches the hoodie being wrangled back on. No verbal agreement is given, just a soft hum. Sucking in a deep breath Stiles pulls himself to his feet, only to immediately stumble backwards towards the bed. “Shit!”  
  
Derek is acting before his mind can catch up, and even though the bed is available for a soft landing he still catches Stiles. “Are you okay? Take it easy, will you?!”  
  
At first Stiles wants to be offended, then it sinks in that Derek's strained tone is only due to worry. “Y-yeah... I just...” Passing a hand through his hair the Sheriff's son gives his watered down smile. “I guess I moved a little too fast. Sorry I-”  
  
Stiles' eyes drop to the strong arms around him. One hand is bracing his lower back, and the other around the front of his waist. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to play off the amount of hurt he's in now that the morphine is running low. Derek is absorbing the worst of the pain; the darkening of his veins indicating he started to take it before he realized he was. “Derek-”  
  
“Just let me. It's okay.” Hypnotic eyes close just for a moment, just long enough to prepare for one large pull. Stiles can't find the words to protest, so he gives in. Once Derek opens his eyes again he lets his companion go slowly. He can't see it, but he can definitely feel the baffled look he earns from Stiles when he turns his back to him; dropping to one knee. “Get on. I'm carrying you out.”  
  
“Piggyback? You can't be serious.”  
  
“You know I am. As long as we're careful about your ribs we're fine.”  
  
Silence lingers in the air thickly before Derek hears Stiles move, the weight pressing onto his back is lighter than he thought it would be. Standing in one fluid motion he adjusts Stiles slightly. It's more out of concern for his mate than his own comfort. “Don't drop me!”  
  
A warm chuckle passes Derek's lips. “I won't. I promise.” 


	5. Gravitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's halfway through the drive back to the loft that Stiles' medications wear off completely. Derek's first warning is the hitch in his mate's breath. Before he can open his mouth to ask the ever silly question 'are you okay?' Stiles' heartbeat hits a harsh staccato. Immediately the beta removes his hand from where it rests on the gearshift; reaching out to attempt to take some of the pain away.
> 
> “Pull over,” Derek has never heard Stiles' voice so strained. “Now Derek!”
> 
> He doesn't have to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I'm sorry it has been so long since I've updated. RL has decided it's necessary to be really mean as of late. ~_~ I've wanted to get this chapter done for you all for awhile, and please forgive any possible errors. Recovering from a concussion currently. As always, thank you for the comments and kudos. You all are awesome! <3

It's halfway through the drive back to the loft that Stiles' medications wear off completely. Derek's first warning is the hitch in his mate's breath. Before he can open his mouth to ask the ever silly question 'are you okay?' Stiles' heartbeat hits a harsh staccato. Immediately the beta removes his hand from where it rests on the gearshift; reaching out to attempt to take some of the pain away.  
  
“Pull over,” Derek has never heard Stiles' voice so strained. “Now Derek!”  
  
He doesn't have to be told twice.  
  
Derek makes it to the side of the road, and parks, just in time for the passenger side door to be thrown open. His worry spikes sharply as trembling fingers claw at Stiles' seat belt uselessly. “Stiles? What-”  
  
“Get me out, get me out!”  
  
In one fluid motion Derek unfastens the belt, and catches the brunet by the back of his jeans as he nearly topples out of the Camaro. As much as he appreciates his companion's determination not to get sick in his car, the werewolf wishes he would have said something other than just 'pull over'. “Stiles-”  
  
Stiles is too busy miserably emptying his stomach of its meager contents to respond. With a barely audible sigh Derek frees his own belt; awkwardly climbing over the seats to get a better hold on his mate's hips. After a few uneasy minutes of holding Stiles steady and murmuring soothing nonsense the shuddering goes back to a light tremor.  
  
“M'sorry...” From his position Derek can see the pink tinge taking over the back of the human's neck as he flushes in embarrassment. “That was so not sexy.”  
  
“You're okay. Thanks for not getting anything on my car.” Derek cringes at is own words. He blurted it out before he could think of a better response. Luckily for him, this is Stiles after all, and instead of being offended the younger man laughs. A real one that warms Derek to his very core.  
  
“Yeah, no problem Sourwolf.” Easing himself into his seat Stiles closes his eyes and leans back. “You okay with me grabbing a drink from somewhere when we get my prescriptions filled? My mouth tastes horrid.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow Derek rumbles playfully, “sounds good to me. Don't want to deal with your breath like this either.”  
  
The indignant squawk and shove to his shoulder is so worth it.

 

_Finally_ making it back to the loft Derek bursts in with Stiles on his back, and two bags hanging from his right arm. It took longer than the Hale had hoped, but he only has himself to blame. He had a bad feeling about going back to the Stilinski house to pick up supplies for the overnight stay; so he insisted on grabbing whatever Stiles would need at the store while they were there instead. As far as toiletries at least. He offered for Stiles to borrow some of his clothes for pajamas; which the brunet agreed to easily enough. The wolf is pleased by this for more reasons than one.  
  
“All right, Grumpasaurus Flex, put me down.” Stiles lightly taps Derek's shoulder for emphasis. “I really want to brush my teeth and change.”  
  
Derek eases Stiles off of his back, then hands the bags over. “I'll grab you the clothes.”  
  
A soft, vaguely distracted, hum in agreement is given as long fingers dig out the new toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thank you, whatever is good.”  
  
'Whatever' turns out to be Derek's favorite Henley, and a pair of plaid pajama pants.  
  
“Sweet, thank you!” Stiles clearly approves, grinning as he takes the offered clothing and hobbles into the bathroom. Derek busies himself in the meantime with emptying what's left in the bags, and setting the intruder alarm. He keeps telling himself Adryan doesn't know where he lives, and as they didn't stop at Stiles' home he couldn't have followed them from there. The bastard probably was hanging out there in wait. A possible dodged bullet will never excuse any carelessness though.  
  
When Stiles emerges from the bathroom he's still smiling softly. “You have your laptop, right? We should watch something! I don't know what, but does that sound like a good idea?”  
  
Derek is only half paying attention. It's hard to focus on Stiles' words when he looks so _good_ in his clothes, when their scents are mingled; complimenting each other so well. It's becoming near impossible to keep from closing the distance between them and kissing his companion speechless. Derek has enough confidence in his abilities to know he can. He downright aches to. When did it become so hard just to be in a room with Stiles without wanting to lay claim to him? It's downright pathetic in Derek's mind that it takes Stiles being _hurt_ , being torn up from a different kind of monster, for him to need to make his feelings known. The beta's expression darkens. A deep growl rather akin to thunder emits from him despite his tightly clenched jaw. It takes Stiles backing away in wide eyed confusion for Derek to realize what he is doing.  
  
“Um...Derek?” Richly amber colored eyes meet the werewolf's and hold contact. “You okay? Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me?”  
  
“No, nowhere near it. I promise.” There's an edge of panic to Stiles' last sentence that catches Derek off guard. Giving one hard shake of his head Derek approaches. Cautiously he extends a hand to gently grasp above Stile's left elbow. The motion is meant to be calming, but instead it seems to just make things worse. He can't see the deep bruise there, he can't know unless shown, or told, why the motion just compounds the problem.  
  
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Stiles attempts to hobble backward. He's hyperventilating, panic attack taking hold swiftly. “Please don't be mad, I don't know what I did but-”  
  
“Hey. Hey,” strong hands carefully cup the brunet's face. “Look at me. Stiles, look at me _now_."  
  
Once Stiles manages to do so Derek continues quietly. “I'm not mad at you. I wasn't lying when I said I was nowhere close to mad at you. I am happy you are here with me. I'm happy to listen to you babble about things, to watch things with you, to spend time with you."  
  
Before Stiles can gather his thoughts surprisingly soft lips are pressed to his own.

 


End file.
